


Neville No Mates

by ladyofsilverdawn (ladyofSD)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Complete, Creature Severus Snape, Dubious Consent, Embarrassed Neville, Happy Ending, Humor, Light BDSM, M/M, Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy (OTP), Post-War, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofSD/pseuds/ladyofsilverdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Neville’s eighteenth birthday party, and he has to find an alpha who will accept him as a second consort—a nice way of saying concubine—or he'll lose everything. The only problem is he has the bad luck of his birthday party being on the same day and at the same time as Harry’s. This leaves him needing help from the least charitable group he knows: Slytherins. Neville will need to do anything and everything he can to ensure at least one of them agrees.</p><p>A <a href="http://i.ytimg.com/vi/3PUOB1Ss0B0/hqdefault.jpg">link</a> to encourage you to give this lovely rare pair a try. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neville No Mates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rhye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye/gifts).



> Neville/Billy No Mates is an Australian/British phrase meaning, “Having no friends.” Thank you [rhye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye) for such a creative prompt! I hope you enjoy! : ) As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta [MyFirstistheFourth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MyFirstistheFourth), and kudos to the mods who hosted this yummy fest!
> 
> This was created for the HP Kink & Squick Creature Fest 2015 for [PROMPT #20](http://kink-n-squick.livejournal.com/50515.html?thread=231251#t231251).

Voldemort has been dead for almost three month now. It feels like years though, every day trickling by like a leaky faucet to disappear down the drain with all the rest.

Sighing out of my nose, I fasten the last button of my formal shirt and, not caring if my clothes wrinkle, plop down into a nearby leather armchair. With my index finger, I tug at my tight collar, beads of sweat already forming on my flushed forehead, my heart skittering behind my ribcage.

Today is my birthday party—my eighteenth birthday party—but I know what day it really is: the last day of my freedom.

With another heavy exhale, I reluctantly stand, tuck in my shirt tails, and walk to the wardrobe, plucking out my brocade dress robes. Sliding my arms through crimson sleeves, I stride to the exit of my childhood bedroom. With a familiar click, it opens, and I pass into a grandiose yet empty corridor. Ignoring the many portraits of bygone Longbottoms, every one of them expectantly looking down their long, thin noses at me, I head towards the grand stairs.

At first, my party was planned to be outside on the grounds but, recently, it’s been especially hot so Gran decided to move it indoors. And so, at the bottom of the white marble staircase, I turn left towards another corridor instead of right, which would have led me straight to the gardens. _Much good the change did_ , I think, rubbing the back of my damp neck, the summer heat seeming to have still found its way inside.

At one end of the hall, I stare at a pair of wheat-colored doors, each holding a large panel of creamy blue-green glass. Standing still, I notice the muted, overly bouncy sound of a waltz coming from behind them. I swallow hard and look past the heavily patinated metal work clinging over the doors to the shifting, dark shapes beyond.

When I take a step backwards, the entryway begins to creep open, and I freeze.

Suddenly, the antique mirror on the wall next to me loudly squawks, “Well, what are you waiting for,” causing me to startle and jump. Facing my reflection, I see that my eyes are too wide, too wild. I look away quickly.

My eyes are known as forget-me-not blue. When others have commented on my eye color, I’ve always accepted it as a compliment, although a backhanded one. The problem is they only ever think of the flower’s name and appearance, not what it really _is_ —a weed. Sure, weeds are hardy but they’re rather useless, too.

With a despondent heart, I scrounge around for my courage and make my way towards the wide open ballroom doors.

If I didn’t know any better, I would think I had made a wrong turn. The room looks exactly like a portion of the gardens, only the cloying heaviness of magic ruining the illusion. Glowing pixies flit by carrying tiny blossoms filled to the brim with nectar. Gnomes try to hide amid manicured hedges, and the perfume from night blooming flowers saturates the air.

Tall lampposts, flickering from the magically created gentle breezes, stand like resolute soldiers, guiding my way. As I walk by, I notice flowering vines tightening around the wrought iron base of each lamp pole like constrictors around their prey. When I glance up at the huge, white gazebo ahead, I see real snakes: Slytherins, each and every one of them a pure-blooded alpha.

I have the bad luck of Harry’s birthday party being on the same day and at the same time as mine. Which leaves me needing a huge sacrifice from the least charitable group of people I know. It’s my own fault, waiting so long, holding on to hope.

Stumbling over my feet, I hear boisterous laughter—at my expense—erupting from the wooden structure. Feeling my face go red, I fix my eyes on my shoes and climb the few stairs up to the gazebo. At the top, I discover Marcus Flint sitting on the balustrade, his bulky body hulking over me.

As I pass by, he smirks and his meaty right hand grabs my forearm, yanking me back towards him.

“Hey up, mule.”  Flint smiles widely with overlarge teeth, reminding me of my place, of my situation.

Most pure-bloods become either alphas or omegas and present around the age of sixteen. At eighteen, I’m long past due. I’m not even a beta, what half-bloods and muggle-borns tend to be. I can’t hold an erection, have never even orgasmed. I’m what is termed a mule: sterile, a dead-end…only to be used. I was hoping that, like my magic, my sexual awakening would also be late… I know now I’m a lost cause.

Because I can’t father or bear an heir, the only way to save the Longbottom line is by carrying out a rarely used tradition. If a pure-blood alpha agrees to make me their second consort—a nice way of saying concubine—and gives their firstborn my family name, it won’t all be lost. It’s a lot to ask for and a lot to hope for.

Though my party is today, my actual birthday isn’t until Thursday. I have four days left to find an alpha who will accept. If I don’t, my family line will end with me. What possessions my parents owned—gone forever. Gran and I will be forced to take on her maiden name. We’ll be stripped of everything. I can’t allow that. I need to do whatever I can to make sure it doesn’t happen.

Wanting my attention, Flint squeezes my arm and gives it a shake. A moment later, he frowns and moves his head from side to side as if he were a dog trying to place a strange sound. I watch with growing trepidation as his pupils start to dilate.

With surprising grace, he hops down and pulls me closer, forcing me against the railing. Burying his face into my neck, he softly growls, “I can’t wait until I can have you under me. Begging me,” he goes on to hiss. He shoves a thigh between my legs, hard against my groin, causing a soft whimper to escape from my lips. Flint nuzzles my neck, and I feebly try to push him away while, at the same time, I loll my head back, allowing him easier access.

“Marcus,” a chill voice says. “It’s uncouth to monopolize the guest of honor. Not to mention, his grandmother has been asking after him.”

I feel Flint’s chest rumble in warning, but he does remove his head from the curve of my neck. I angle my head to find Draco Malfoy leaning elegantly against a support column, looking as dapper as ever in stark-white dress robes.

Flint curls his lip at Malfoy. “Fine.” As he straightens his back, his hands slither along the sides of my torso. Grinning, he mocks, “Wouldn’t want to be uncouth.”

Grabbing one of my clenched fists, Flint pries it open and places a rolled up piece of parchment in my sweaty palm. “Your times running out, _Longbottom_. Wouldn’t be smart to wait much longer.” With a farewell sneer, he strolls away towards the refreshment table.

I should be running about in happiness, joyously waving what’s in my hand over my head, but all I can do is gaze dejectedly at it.

Not bothering to move from his spot, Malfoy says, “The night’s young. There’s time yet for you to get another offer.”

“Are you?” I ask a little too eagerly. “Offering, I mean.”

Malfoy’s brows rise into his fringe, and he slowly shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no…  It’s not that I don’t find you…appealing, but I’m still searching for my mate. It wouldn’t be right for me to make such a decision without him.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m only here as a courtesy.”

My back slumping, I nod silently, placing the contract in an inner pocket while scanning my eyes across the mingling partygoers, spotting my Gran.

Smiling weakly, I mumble, “Well, thanks for coming and…earlier.”

With closed lips, Malfoy returns my smile and takes a step closer. “It’s true that there are very few pure-bloods left that aren’t from my house,” Draco states politely, “but there _are_ some, the Abbotts and Weasleys, for instance. Why are you not seeking help from them?”

“I did,” I answer under my breath.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

More clearly and a little louder than needed, I say, “I’ve asked around.” Feeling like a halfwit and adjusting my voice appropriately, I continue, “But everyone’s abandoning the old ways or forgotten about them. They just didn’t understand. Instead, they offered me a place to live and all the galleons I’d need until I got settled, but I don’t care about all that. I care about losing my history, my _home_.”

Draco licks his lips and takes another step towards me, this one more fluid than the last, then another—but then he stops abruptly. Sinking his hands into his pockets, Malfoy appears to want to close the gap between us but doesn’t.

“I…promised Hestia a dance,” Draco tightly says, taking a slow step back. “I’m sure you know how unwise it is to leave a female alpha waiting.” After a few more backwards steps, Malfoy slowly removes his hands from his pockets and resumes his proper posture. “Well then, Happy Birthday, Longbottom.”

“Neville,” I call out, feeling foolish. “You can call me Neville.

“Neville, then.” Draco nods, smiles primly, and turns away.

I watch his back and how it moves underneath his robes for as long as I can and then force myself in Gran’s direction, passing a group, featuring the gossiping, Pansy Parkinson.

“Why hello,” she croons in a smoky voice. Handing off her Champagne tulip, Parkinson threads an arm into the crook of mine. “Everyone look; it’s none other than the long awaited birthday boy!”

Wiggling her eyebrows at her snickering friend, Daphne Greengrass, Pansy stands on the tips of her toes and playfully wraps her hands behind the back of my neck. Getting a good look at me, the smile on her small square face soon melts away, and a soft “oh” puffs from her glossy lips.

Parkinson locks her arms around me, and she rubs her little pug nose along the chiseled plane of my jaw. “Hmmm… You’ve become quite fetching; haven’t you? Are you hungry?”

“What?” I glance at the long table piled high with food and drink, sighting Marcus Flint glowering.

“I have something you’d love to eat.” She licks my neck and sighs, grinding the hardening bulge between her legs into me.

Comprehending what she’s implying, I gasp in amazement when I feel my limp cock give a slight twitch.

“You’d be a good, strong mule; wouldn’t you?” Pansy states more than asks.

She looks about ready to pounce on me then and there, but the loud clearing of a throat, thankfully, interrupts.

“Neville,” a stern voice chides.

“Gran?” I mutter dazedly, recognizing her familiar black silk hat and the stuffed vulture sitting upon it.

“Neville, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” my grandmother huffs.

The fuzziness in my head instantly disappears, and I unlatch Parkinson’s trapping arms. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Nothing as dire as you’re thinking. I’m afraid I won’t be able to partake in tonight’s festivities any longer.”

“Do I need to call the healer?”

Her eyes soften at my concern. “No need. At my age, I don’t have the same constitution I once had and planning this event has simply exhausted me.”

I remember how untiringly she had dueled during the final battle just a few months earlier but don’t argue. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.” She pats my cheek gently. “Have one of the elves let me know if you’ll be missing breakfast.”

I bob my head. “Sure, Gran.”

She points her wand at her throat and casts a _Sonorus_. “My dear alphas, I apologize, but I must take an early leave. There’s plenty of food and drink, and the orchestra will be playing till dawn. Please enjoy yourselves on this day of celebration for my grandson. Goodnight, everyone.”

With dignity, she departs, and all the alphas show their respect by bowing or curtseying as the older omega makes her way from the gazebo.

Once Gran is gone from sight, they all turn their eager eyes on me. I can sense their rising levels of aggression and lust, and my pulse begins to quicken.

At a loss of what to do next, I want to hide under one of the tables. I can feel perspiration accumulating on my body, and my anxiety causes my skin to become tingly and oversensitive.

“Neville!” I hear Draco’s comforting voice call from the far side of the gazebo. “Why don’t you open your gifts before having the cake served?” he graciously recommends.

Rude laughter causes me to hesitate, but being safely behind the gift table for a few minutes would be better than standing defenseless out in the open.

Keeping as much distance as I can from the clusters of restless alphas, I maneuver to the table of gifts. The wooden table, covered in fine linen, isn’t overly large nor are most of the gifts upon it, but they are all wrapped in expensive fabrics and ribbons.

As I study the various sized boxes, the alphas start to advance, gradually getting closer and closer, becoming more hostile towards their encroaching peers. A particular gift grabs my attention. Flipping the card open, I’m happy to announce that it’s from Draco, who I easily find, now standing on the outskirts of the crowd.

After pulling on one end of the ribbon, the fabric wrapping my present falls away, rippling onto the surface of the table. The thought of Draco’s robes dropping to the floor in a similar manner causes a surge of heat to course throughout my body. Hearing numerous low growls, I bite my bottom lip and shut my eyes, the urge to prostrate myself, scaring me.

Breathing deeply through my nose, I refocus on Draco’s gift: a beautiful terrarium. An unruly plant, literally overrunning with tiny white flowers, sits inside the domed glass enclosure. It takes me a second to identify it: White Tuffet, a magical weed that has nearly been eradicated. For a second or two, I just enjoy watching the pea-sized blossoms run and hop amongst their black stems and leaves.

Attached to the round glass knob at the top of the terrarium is a folded note. I remove it and, to myself, read:

_My five-time great omega discovered that when one of his peacocks would mostly consume the flowers of this weed, its plumage would turn the purest of whites. Always remember: nothing is as useless as it seems._

_Draco Malfoy_

With a huge smile, I give him an appreciative nod.

“Neville!” Parkinson yells, sloshing her new glass of Champagne. “Yoo-hoo! Open mine! Open mine next!”

It takes me a bit, but I locate Pansy’s gift. Her present is in the smallest box. It’s smothered in garish pink and green paisley and tied with a tiny black bow. Freeing the box, on it I see two diagonally placed, interlocking _Bs_ , forming the well-known logo of Borgin and Burkes. My stomach sinks: nothing good ever comes from that dark artifacts shop.

Fingers trembling, I snap open the spring-loaded lid. Displayed on nipple-shaped, velvet nubs are two silver clamps each decorated with a little onyx bow tie and linked together by a silver chain.

Grasping what Pansy had given me, warmth floods my face, and I can feel my ears turning bright pink.

Noticing my discomfort, Parkinson chortles in delight. “So innocent,” she darkly purrs. “Do you like them little mule? I can tug on them while I’m rutting into your virgin hole.” A resonant growl sounds from her dainty chest, and I have to concentrate to stay on my feet, my knees feeling weak.

“I can help you put them on now,” Pansy suggests, her voice mesmerizing, “and you can show your submission to _me_.”

My whine of fear and arousal causes louder sounds of hostility to reverberate between the floor and ceiling.

I’m about to take a step towards Pansy when Draco barks my name. _Draco_? His voice, sounding closer, shouts my name again.

“Yeah,” I respond aloud, shaking my head and blinking my eyes.

“Put. Down. The box.” Draco seriously instructs.

Without hesitation, I do as Draco commands.

Incredibly embarrassed about letting whatever spell it was get the best of me, I snatch the first gift my hands touch, and cringe when I realize it’s from Marcus Flint.

“Go on then.” Flint’s eyes flash with hunger. He barrels through the alphas, not stopping until his thighs are pressing against the edge of the table. “Open it.”

Ripping the wrapping away, I tear open the box, and all I can do is gawk.

Flint chuckles. “You’re going to be _mine_ ,” he asserts in a low-pitched growl.

Again my cock jerks, and I stare into the box feeling a mix of emotions: want, dread—but mostly shame.

Partially covered by tissue paper, a leash made out of dragon hide coils around a sturdy collar. On the surface of the collar, the word _MULE_ is spelled out in large, bold letters.

“But I’m not a greedy wizard.” Flint grins wickedly. “I promised I’d share.”

My head shoots up.

From the facial expressions on most of the alphas, what Flint had just said isn’t a surprise. What _is_ though is that most of them also look as if they no longer wish to share.

Before Flint can say another word, I randomly select another present, treating it in the same hurried fashion as I did his.

A paddle.

Then: a muzzle, a flogger, and a pair of lacy, color-changing panties.

With each newly unveiled gift, the alphas grow more excited and I more humiliated, as well as…physically uncomfortable.

As I shift my weight from foot to foot due to the increasingly odd sensation in my bum, another hot flash overwhelms me. _I definitely must be coming down with something_.

A fierce snarl seizes my attention. In front of me, three alphas, one of them Marcus Flint, plunge to the floor in a snapping jumble.

Pansy rolls her eyes and struts towards them, wand drawn, shouting, “ _Petrificus Totalus_ ” three consecutive times, successfully stopping the brawl.

Leaving them where they lie, Pansy admonishes the bunch. “Really! The way you’re acting you’d think an omega in heat were present!”

Watching as she badgered the incapacitated alphas, I absentmindedly open another gift.

 _Boom_!

High-pitched ringing fills my ears but, otherwise, I feel marginally better, not as hot and itchy.

I glimpse down and do a double take. _Bloody hell_! _I’m starkers_! _I’m blooming starkers_!

As the ringing subsides, I start to hear…laughter?

Lifting my head, I see that the back-half of the crowd, save for Draco, is doubled over with laughter. The alphas nearer to me, on the other hand, are unmoving—completely fixated on me.

Whimpering with panic, I back away from them. I have no idea where my wand has disappeared off to. I’m totally defenseless.

“Come on, Draco!” one of the alphas whines as Draco strides towards me with a fuming face. “You’re such a spoilsport!”

“Yeah, let us have our fun!” Another alpha adds.

Draco marches around the gift table to stand behind me. He glares at his fellow alphas. “Have all of you learned nothing?” Removing his robes, causing a few alphas to wolf whistle, Draco eases the silky, white fabric around my shoulders and intensely grits out, “He’s a wizard like us, a _pure-blood_ like us, and is deserving of our civility!”

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Draco,” Pansy mildly says, her body language telling a different story as she stalks back and forth in front of the table. “He’s _not_ like us and,” the volume of her voice begins to rise, “because of the likes of him, our lives are in shambles!” She points her talon-like forefinger at me.  “He’s a mule! He _will_ provide at least one of us what pleasure he can—as is our right!”

During Pansy’s ongoing tirade, the cologne wafting from Draco’s robes consumes me. I’ve never smelled anything as pleasant before. Shutting my eyes, I bury my nose into the material and, with each inhale, I become more befuddled by the scent.  

Draco sets his palm on my shoulder, encouraging me to face him, and I hiss from the burning feel of it. He gasps and quickly removes his hand, creating more space between us.

I turn around to see him breathing heavily. His hands are once again confined in his trouser pockets, bringing attention to his extremely aroused state.

“I-I don’t understand it,” Draco stammers. He swallows hard. “Something has triggered my rut. I need to leave, immediately.” His thinly ringed pupils center on me. “Do you want to leave, too?”

I want to leave with Draco so much. My insides are screaming at me to leave with him, but I know what my answer has to be.

Rapidly blinking my prickling eyes, I rasp, “I can’t.”

There’s a moment of silence before Draco inhales a shaky breath. “I understand. Well then, I’ll take my leave. Good luck with your endeavors and Happy Birthday.” Before I can respond, with stiff, too controlled movements, he rushes off.

Watching him go, I’m left feeling the most alone and empty I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

“You’re gallant Slytherin prince has left you to the wolves, my pet,” Pansy says with a saccharine grin. Sitting down on the edge of the gift table, she takes one of my gifts, places it near her ear, and gives it a rattle. “It really is a shame about your condition.” She stares pointedly at my exposed groin area and sighs wistfully. “I wager you’d taste delicious…but I’ll just have to be satisfied with buggering you.”

Pansy returns the gift to the table and then sets a sealed envelope upon it before summoning another glass of fresh Champagne.

After she hops off from the table and onto her heels, she takes a sip of the bubbly gold liquid. “Ever since I was young, I’ve never liked sharing my toys,” she coyly informs me. “Hurry and finish opening your presents, pet; I remember you were quite the dancer.”

Pansy sighs in exasperation. “All this Champagne has run right through me. I’m off to find a loo.” She takes a step away but stops. Turning back around, in a lowered voice, she says, “Don’t come out from behind there…just open your presents until I return.”

I give a silent nod, pulling Draco’s robes closer around me.

Reluctantly, Pansy leaves, her heels clacking against the hardwood floor. As she passes by Flint, she _accidently_ strikes him on the head.

 _Draco was right_ I smile to myself. _I did get another offer and_ … _it’s_ , _at least_ , slightly _better_.

My spirits somewhat lifted, I do as Pansy instructed and select another gift. I notice it’s not professionally wrapped like all the others have been. It’s still wrapped nicely in red silk but a bit more messily. On the card is written:

 _Sorry I couldn’t be there_. _I thought this could liven up your party if things got too dull_. _You’ll know what to do_.

 _Cheers_ ,  
_George_

Warmth fills my chest. I’ve had a crush on George Weasley since first year. After the war, I volunteered to manage his joke shop while he and his family had mourned Fred’s death. When the alpha had returned to work last month, he’d offered me a permanent position and…a place to live—his apartment. I had been so tempted to accept his offer but didn’t. It had been sadly clear George only saw me as a friend and would never agree to have me as his second consort.

With the wrapping moved aside, I gasp in amazement when I see a very old trinket box. A resting lion and lovely dragon flowers are inlaid onto its honey-hued surface with ivory wood. It’s lacking a good polishing but, otherwise, is beautiful.

As soon as I crack open the lid, something from inside bursts out, sending gifts scattering. I fall onto my arse, Draco’s robes sliding off my shoulders.  

The jolt to my bum from the impact sends mixed signals to my brain, and I groan in pleasure-pain.

Looking up, I become paralyzed.

Crouched on the table, staring down at me, is Severus Snape.

Snape’s head minutely tilts to the side as he studies me. Without warning, all his clothes vanish, and I scream.

“What the—” one alpha begins, catching Snape’s attention. The alpha’s sentence soon turns to a deafening shriek when, suddenly in Snape’s place, looms Lord Voldemort.

The orchestra instantly stops playing. I hear the sounds of glass shattering and chair legs scraping against the floor as Voldemort sinuously climbs down from the table, heading for the first person he sees moving.

Crawling under the table and peering from beneath the tablecloth, I spot the three cursed alphas lying on the ground. Reaching out and grabbing hold of whatever I can, I drag them beneath the table as well, saving them from being trampled.

The vibrations of the floorboards, from the flock of orchestra players and Slytherins running around in a flap, send tingles across my skin.

Suddenly, a wave of scorching heat suffuses my entire body, and I’m left panting in its wake. I glance down at the motionless alphas in front of me. All of their eyes are nearly black with arousal.

With my next breath, a strong mixture of overpowering odors fills my nostrils. When my cock more than twitches and actually starts to harden, I gasp and then curse softly. Not realizing what I’m doing, I begin rubbing my semi-erect prick against Flint’s thigh. I groan in disappointment when the urge, as well as what erection I had, starts to diminish.

It dawns on me that I must have been dosed with a Lust Potion. I’ve tried one in the past, in the desperate hope of sparking my change, with results disappointingly similar.

Inhaling a deep breath and waiting a moment to make sure I was acting normally, I creep over the alphas. Eyeing Flint’s wand, I decide against taking it, remembering how my spells had tended to backfire when I’d been forced to use my dad’s.

Sticking my head out again like a cautious turtle, I observe that the entire orchestra had escaped, but that the Slytherin alphas, with their aggressive nature towards one another, hadn’t been as successful.

Voldemort Disapparates and, before I know it, the alphas are being herded back into the gazebo.

“Why are all of you running around like mindless fools and not kneeling before your lord!” Voldemort snarls, chasing them up the stairs.

They scramble in my direction, unsure of what to do. Some kneel, most cower, and a few simply stand, staring utterly dumbfounded.

It was obvious they didn’t know what was going on; otherwise, they would have put their wands to good use.

Just to the left of me, Voldemort homes in on one of the alphas still upright, and without preamble, he shouts, “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

As soon as the alpha crumples to the ground, all those, who hadn't already, kneel.

I examine the female who had been hit by the shot of green light. As expected, I see her chest slowly rising and falling with life.

“Why do you question my power?” Voldemort softly says, unhurriedly slinking closer. “No matter. I can easily teach you as I taught your progenitors.” He smiles darkly and points his wand. _Crucio_!”

Hestia Carrow, who had been sniffling and forcing herself to expose her neck, piercingly screams.

I know the curse isn’t as strong as it could be, but it’s still not a good enough reason to do nothing.

Leaping up from my hiding space, I shout at the alphas, “You don’t need to be scared! That’s not Voldemort! _Voldemort is dead_! Get up; your fear is only making him stronger!”

But none of them move.

With every passing second, Hestia’s screaming gets shriller, and I do the only thing I can.

“Oi! You!” I shout, throwing a gift box, hitting Voldemort square on the chest. “I’m not afraid of you!” I yell in challenge.

Voldemort’s venomous red irises turn on me and bleed into black. Greasy black hair sprouts from his bald scalp, and a hooked nose rises from where there had only been two slits.

Instinctively, I scurry backwards, toppling myself hard onto the gift table. Again a shock of sensation rushes up my arsehole, causing me to whimper.

Severus Snape, a rare, half-blooded alpha, moves in-between my legs. I feel the hot tip of his engorged cock teasing my opening. Moaning, I clench the muscles of my bum tightly.

“You are the most worthless bag of bones and organs, I’ve ever known,” Snape drones in a whisper. “Even worse than Potter—at least he has a purpose.” Sneering, Snape encloses my flaccid cock with one of his large hands and squeezes. Louder, he rhetorically asks, “Can’t even get your willy hard, can you?”

Instead of answering him, I breathlessly cry out, “Someone…please help me!”

“I think we should show the class how worthless you really are.” Snape says in a loud, firm voice.

A few of the alphas, having finally sussed out what was going on, stand—but do nothing.

I want to fight Snape off, but something holds me back. Tears beginning to form in my eyes, I stretch my neck in invitation.

Snape accepts. His chest rumbles deeply in approval as he falls onto me, sucking and lightly biting at my neck.

Writhing beneath him, my nails scratch his milky white back, leaving thin red rivulets.

Satisfied with the deep purpling bruise on my neck, Snape snatches a small box off the table. The sound of metal tinkling precedes my left nipple being savagely pinched. I keen, back arching from the overly sensitive flesh being so callously treated.

Once both tiny nubs on my chest are throbbing from pressure, Snape tugs on the attached silver chain. My knob gives a slight jump, and I howl from the sensation of my erect nipples being painfully wrenched, as well as the confusing pleasure.

Cruelly sniggering, Snape steps aside so all the alphas can see his handiwork.

Knowing they’re all judging me. Knowing they’re studying me with ridicule. It’s my worst nightmare, and I hate it. I hate it! But my body wants them… I want them.

I look down my sweat slicked body, flushed with embarrassment and mounting arousal, to find black-jeweled bow ties topping each one of my nipples.

As more and more alphas, still edgy from Voldemort’s appearance, rise to watch, Snape tosses me over onto my stomach.

Mewling in terror from being put in such a vulnerable position, my legs start to shake.

 _Smack_.

I cry out in surprise, the hot imprint on my right buttock from a leather paddle worsening the weird sensation in my arse—the thickening of my prick also not helping matters.

 _Smack_.

The alphas behind me yip in excitement as my other cheek is struck. A deep moan spills from my throat as I give in to the strange feeling, relaxing my bum. At the same time, my cock fully hardens, and I attempt to create any friction I can against the hanging tablecloth.

 _Smack_.

Grunting, I feel a drop of something trickle from my arsehole and down into the thatch of hair covering my balls. _What's happening to me_!

The air becomes heavy with my musk. Snape emits a guttural sound behind me as do the alphas nearest us.

Abruptly twisting at the waist, Snape sends dark curses flying. I once again hear terrified screaming, groans of pain, and feet fleeing.

“Stop…please.”

The muscles of my arse jump when Snape sniffs at my wet hole. I spread my legs wider, and his warm tongue laps at my puckered opening. Pushing against Snape’s probing, I beg him again—but this time it’s for more.

“What…is…going on here!” I hear screeched at the opposite end of the gazebo.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see Pansy stomping towards us.

Snape sensing another threat spins around, his form morphing into a woman, who greatly resembles Pansy.

With sadness, the woman says, “You’ll never know love, Pansy, not the kind of love I shared with your mother.” Her eyes turn cruel. “That’s because you steal love. You stole her from me, and—“

“Who…is…the _idiot_ who let loose a bloody Boggart!” Pansy hollers.

As Pansy avoids being struck by a curse, a deep twisting sensation tears at my gut and I scream. A rush of fluid gushes from my opening. I feel as if I’m in the middle of a Fiendfyre Curse but, instead of feeling pain from fire, it’s from a lack of touch.

“Make it stop!” I plead. “Make it stop!”

The explosion of my pheromones sends the alphas into a state of frenzy. Their instincts take control, and they begin battling one another in shows of dominance.

At the same time chaos erupts, Pansy manages to place herself between me and the Boggart. She points her wand and shouts, “ _Riddik_ —“

But before Pansy can cast the spell, Daphne Greengrass tackles her to the floor.

Snape walks around the table, bending to get eye level with me. “The pain is only going to worsen,” He casually says. “You’re right; you _are_ dying, and you will have to endure this pain for many more days before you can take your last, pathetic breath.”

“No…please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face.

“Neville!”

Snape stands and I turn towards the bellowing shout to see Draco sprinting towards us, appearing rumpled and drenched in perspiration.

When he notices Snape, his eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t slow down, knocking attacking alphas out of his away.

The Boggart gazes at Draco but doesn’t change form. “I’m dead,” it confirms, with Snape’s deep voice. “I’m dead because of you. Coward. Fail—”

Draco shows his teeth and aims his wand. “ _Riddikulus_!”

With a crooked grin, Draco snorts at Snape’s appearance. He’s wearing a scarlet and gold bustier and panties with matching garters and stockings. As Snape totters about in stilettos, trying to keep his balance, Draco flicks his wand again.

The Boggart is swept into the air, spins in a whirlwind, and then vanishes with a pop to terrorize unsuspecting victims elsewhere.    

Draco comes to a running stop behind me and then shallowly gasps. “Oh, Merlin,” he whispers in alarm.

Slippery wetness spurts out from my opening at his arrival. I feel his hands forcefully grip my waist, and I moan in pleasure, arching my neck to the side.

Seeing the bruise on my mating gland, he snarls. An instant later, he flips me over and, with my next breath, I feel his cock slipping into my heat, slamming against the wall of my womb. My back bows and I scream out a long, deep cry of relief.

With so many competing alphas in the vicinity, Draco’s instinct to mate and protect me from poaching is too strong. As he drives his rod into my needy hole, his teeth soon breaks the skin of my mating gland, bonding us together forever. A new awareness fills me. Emotions of care, respect, and physical bliss tip me over the edge and, for the first time in my life, my cock pulses in orgasm. Come puddles on the table around me, each spasm squeezing my arsehole tighter and tighter, drawing out even louder moans of ecstasy.

My tightening arsehole finally triggers Draco’s knot. His thrusts become erratic as the base of his cock swells, sealing us together, not just our bodies, but also our fates. After a triumphant shout, he kisses me desperately as his seed fills me, creating life.

 _I’m so full_ … _I’m so full and happy_.

As I come down from the high of release, the mating urge lessens, and I can think coherently again. I open my eyes to find Draco staring at me with wonder.

Draco strokes my damp forehead and smiles. “I’ve finally found you.”

My eyes gleam. “In the nick of time,” I say with a wry, hoarse voice. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head, cutely pursing his lips. “You don’t need to thank me.” His fingers gently brush my newly created mating mark, causing a surge of heat to journey down to my groin. Glancing over his shoulder, Draco watches as the battered alphas crawl off one another, moaning and dusting themselves off. “I...couldn’t leave you to them. I almost—”

I stop him by placing my lips on his. Remembering his compassion, his bravery, I send my emotions to him through our bond. And as our kiss deepens, for the first time in a very long while, Draco knows he has nothing to fear.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always welcome! Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.


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